Days of Service
by Princess Alyra
Summary: It takes roughly five days for Merlin to go from loathing Arthur Pendragon to tolerating him, and another two hundred sixteen to become vaguely fond of his existence. After three hundred thirty four days, he even starts to care what happens to him, and it only goes up from there. No slash.
1. Day 1

Erm... so... hi. If you happen to read _The One Without_... I'm working on it?

I know this is short, and most or all of them probably will be. Hopefully a few people like it, because I've already started and/or finished like three more chapters. If you have anything you'd particularly like to see, I can try to work it in somewhere! Not sure how long this will be, or whether it'll go past season one... I guess that'll depend on if people want to read more. Don't worry, this isn't going to proceed as "Day One, Day Two, Day Three," etc. I'm not crazy enough to do THAT.

Also, title may change. Be warned.

As for now, though... enjoy!

* * *

**Day 1**

In the future, Merlin would not consider this his first day of work—not because he did not work, but rather for the following reasons.

Reason One: It was more of a training day, even if the training was largely done by the prince himself and involved a lot of chores, some of which he was pretty sure were made up. Still, Morris was there helping for the vast majority of it, and the former manservant seemed ridiculously relieved in a way that furthered Merlin's abject horror about his position.

Reason Two: It was pure, unadulterated hell, and his memory decided it was best left out.

He knew from the moment he entered the prince's chambers (late, because it took him half an hour to figure out where they were) that it was going to be a bad day. Prince Arthur scowled at him when he entered-come to think of it, he probably should've knocked-and there was a long, forcibly awkward pause that made Merlin fidget after a while.

"Well," Arthur drawled, looking Merlin up and down, "look who's arrived. Finally. Lucky for you that other servant thought to bring me my breakfast, or I'd have you in the stocks already. Come on, I need to get dressed."

Merlin mentally cursed Arthur and thanked Morris at the same time, Arthur for being even more of a prat than Merlin had thought and Morris for having a beautiful amount of foresight. Whatever, now that he knew where Arthur's chambers were, he'd just have to remember to stop at the kitchens before he-

Wait. Get dressed?

"Don't tell me you can't even put your own clothes on!" Merlin exclaimed incredulously. How far removed from reality were these pretentious nobles?

Prince Arthur drew himself up. "I assure you I am capable," he snapped. "It is your job, however, and I expect you to do it without complaining. That wardrobe there—" he pointed, "—has all my ceremonial clothes. The one next to it holds what I wear on a daily basis."

What princes wore on a daily basis was clearly not to be compared to what most people wore on a daily basis, because Merlin had never owned anything quite so fine as Arthur's "casual" tunics. He could tell how expensive the fabric was just by touching it.

Beyond that, there were more clothes in the wardrobe than any man needed. Merlin wouldn't have been a bit surprised if it turned out Arthur had never even worn some of them.

He pulled out what he assumed was Arthur's worst pair of trousers and plainest tunic. That was the easy part. The next part was the part he was not looking forward to.

Merlin spent the next five minutes occupying his brain with things other than the fact that he was helping another adult man get dressed. It was viciously awkward, and to make matters worse, his fingers kept fumbling over ties, which only served to drag out the whole process.

When the deed was done and he found himself still alive, the rest of the day looked infinitely more survivable than before.

He shouldn't have made such assumptions. After all, his friend Will had taught him a clever phrase about what assuming did.

It wasn't necessarily that the work itself was terrible. Sure, when Morris came along later and started explaining what sorts of things the prince would have expect of him everyday, he was far from excited about the prospect. However, much less bearable than the chores was his master.

Arthur Pendragon clearly did not like Merlin one bit.

"I told you to polish my armor," he remarked snidely, "not run a rag over it. I can see the smudges from here. And in what reality would you call this blade sharp?"

"That's because I haven't sharpened it yet!" Merlin exclaimed, holding up the prince's helmet and a polishing rag. "I'm busy with everything else you've got me doing!"

Arthur scoffed. "Good Lord, you're useless. Don't think for a second I'm going to give you any special treatment just because my father appointed you. I expect you to do your job right, or you won't have a job at all."

Bloody shame, Merlin thought. "Let's not forget why your father appointed me," he said. "Something about me saving your life, I think. But never mind that, I'm sure it's expected that someone's to drop what they're doing and push you out of harm's way every time a knife's flying at you. Wouldn't dream of special treatment, Sire."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at him. "You are the most insolent human being I have ever had the displeasure of meaning, and if you carry on talking to me like that, I will throw you in jail."

"What," said Merlin, unable to hold back, "you mean again?"

The third reason Merlin did not like to count this as his first day of work:

It was cut short by a sudden and unwelcome trip to the stocks.


	2. Day 6

Thank you to everyone who reviewed/favorited/alerted! I'll introduce this chapter by saying that it's not my favorite, but I feel like it's a necessary step. This isn't a chapter-per-episode type thing, by the way. Parts of it will seem that way, I'm sure, but I'll be skipping around and covering things not seen on the actual show. My goal here isn't to novelize the show, since a bunch of people have already done that. Kay? Kay!

Enjoy :)

* * *

**Day 6**

On his sixth day working for the reckless Crown Prince of Camelot—"working for" being words used for lack of better ones, as Merlin had quite recently been sacked—Merlin saved the prat's life. Again.

He very nearly didn't bother. After almost convincing Merlin he could be reasonable, Arthur had gone on to show him that he was every bit the self-righteous noble he appeared to be. It was so _frustrating_. Merlin had been so close to convincing him the truth about Valiant, and somehow it ended with Arthur yelling about humiliation and ordering Merlin away. Perhaps it was different when you were a noble, but Merlin didn't see how trying to save someone's life was at all humiliating.

The bite in Arthur's words when he fired him was enough to make Merlin re-think this whole destiny business. He'd not exactly been thrilled about it in the first place, but how was he expected to protect a prince who neither appreciated it nor heeded it?

It all came down to the moment of truth, when Arthur and Valiant were alone in the ring and Merlin had to choose to act or not to.

Saving him from Mary Collins a week ago had been a fluke. Merlin had acted on instinct, as he had when Gaius broke through the railing; he'd been the only one awake, a knife was flying, and he could save the prince with no one any the wiser about how.

This was more proactive. Hundreds of people were here, and none of them were in an enchanted sleep. Prince Arthur had made it perfectly clear that he didn't want Merlin's help. He was the idiot stupid enough to agree to a fight he didn't expect to survive.

On the other hand...

Arthur wasn't simply an obnoxious stranger he'd run into a couple times anymore. He was still obnoxious, but Merlin had spent the better part of a week almost constantly on his presence. He hadn't _enjoyed _it, to be certain, but it was enough where Merlin would still feel guilty letting him die. He'd feel guilty letting anyone die, of course, but there was the matter of his magic, which he'd have to use in front of this entire crowd with the risk that anyone might see it.

In the end, the deciding factor was the Great Dragon and his words. Not the bit about saving Arthur for some destiny, not directy-Merlin couldn't care less that someone a million years ago had foretold that he had to keep his eye on a prince that despised him.

No, the part that stiffened his resolve was the faint hope that someday, maybe, Arthur Pendragon would come to accept magic. That hope seemed very dim when Merlin thought of the pyre he'd seen his first day, and the venom in Arthur's voice when he said the words "magic" or "sorcerer." But it was there, in the dragon's tale.

If nothing else, Merlin could be sure that _not _saving the prince would in no way endear magic to anyone in this kingdom. He doubted King Uther would take it well if his only son died from someone's enchanted shield devouring him in the middle of a tournament.

Merlin had worn himself to complete exhaustion last night, attempting the spell that would reveal the dishonest knight's ruse. He skidded to a halt at the ring's entrance, half-hidden behind the colorful enclosure but still in full view of anyone who happened to take their eyes off the fight to look in his general direction.

Things weren't going particularly well for Arthur. Merlin didn't know much about fighting, but he'd watched Arthur enough the last few days to know that normally the prince wouldn't have such trouble against... well, anyone. Still, he was holding his own well enough that he would have stood a chance, except for the shield.

It was hard to see much of Arthur's face, even when he removed his helmet, but Merlin saw the hard set of his jaw and at least imagined he saw determination flashing in his eyes.

_"How can you go out there and fight like that?" _Merlin had asked him when Arthur had admitted he would probably die.

_"Because I have to. It's my duty."_

He must really have believed that, to face his imminent end with chin held high, giving nothing away to anyone except what he'd said to Merlin last night. It was almost humbling, if one didn't know how much of a jerk Arthur was in general.

It was _just _possible that someday, if someone could pull out more of the buried good qualities in the prince, he might turn out to be an all right sort of king.

One could hope, anyway.

Merlin raised his hand and uttered the words that brought the snakes rearing prematurely, and within two minutes the fight was over.

**Day 6.5**

Merlin really, _really _regretted saving Arthur's life.

All right, so he would have stewed with guilt and probably endured a dragon's angry bellows if he hadn't. But none of this comforted him of the fact that he was sitting in a pile of the same armor he'd polished less than a week ago, while nine tenths of Camelot's population ate and drank and gossiped merrily at the tail end of the feast.

He should have known that the glimmer of genuine nobility he'd seen in Arthur would vanish just as quickly. Disgruntled, he reflected that he should never trust the part of himself that wanted to see good in people. Fat chance he'd ever see that in the stupid prat again.

The prince himself appeared in the doorway, and for one bright moment Merlin hoped it was to tell him to go away so Arthur could go to sleep, but it turned out not to be.

"I need a new shirt," he grumbled. "Hurry up, Merlin, there are people I have to talk to."

"The great tournament champion can't hold a glass of wine without spilling it?" Merlin asked innocently. Arthur ripped his shirt off in annoyance and tossed it at Merlin.

"Don't be ridiculous. Morgana threw it at me."

Merlin snorted, and Arthur glared. Merlin hurriedly pulled a new tunic over the prince's head to get him out of here as soon as possible. "You might want to avoid making women angry," Merlin advised him. "Wine's hard to get out of clothes."

"Not my problem," Arthur tossed over his shoulder, already halfway out the door. "I want that armor finished by the time I get back, _Mer_lin!"

Nope, Merlin thought gloomily when the door was closed. He was _definitely _wrong to hope Arthur could be more than a prat.

* * *

_Next: __Day 34. Arthur almost acts like a decent human being. Not to Merlin, of course._


	3. Day 34

This is the first one I actually wrote, even though I had ideas for the first three pretty much simultaneously. It's sort of fun, bouncing between days, imagining where Merlin and Arthur are in their relationship at any given time.

Well, I hope you enjoy :)

* * *

**Day 34**

On his thirty-fourth day of working for Arthur, Merlin got to see a slightly more human side of him.

Sure, he'd seen flashes of Arthur's struggles with moments of being-a-prince-has-a-lot-of-pressure, and he could sympathize—after all, a dragon had just recently told him that whole fate of Albion rested on his shoulders. Princely pressures were still princely, though, however pressuring they were.

Tax collecting day was a bit different.

Merlin wasn't too fond of going around town watching people cough up half their gold to give to a kingdom that probably didn't need a third of what it would get, but Arthur insisted on dragging him along to carry the money bag, which was clearly something the king's son should not be subject to doing. Begrudgingly, Merlin tailed the prince from door to door, grimacing when he saw people he'd met. Some looked positively miserable when they opened the door.

"No chance of a reprieve this year, Sire?" some would say hopefully, but Arthur held firm until they relented their earnings.

A few insisted they'd pay within the next few days, and apparently Arthur had an unspoken trust for an even smaller few, because there were one or two people he let get away with this. Merlin had a sneaking suspicion this wasn't strictly regulation, but he didn't bring it up.

The deal with the baker was a different story, though. Or rather, with the baker's daughter.

Merlin's heart constricted when Arthur knocked three times on the bakery door, and out stepped a girl no older than mid-teens, clearly the victim of poverty. She was thin-skinny, not slender-but still her dress was too small for her, as if she'd grown a lot since it was originally sewn. There were holes, some of which had been sloppily patched, others of which hadn't been patched at all.

Merlin knew there was a bakery on either end of the lower town, one of which did well and the other of which... got by. Barely, it seemed.

He had no idea how this girl was going to going to afford the ten-shilling tax; he didn't think the girl had ever seen ten shillings.

"Prince Arthur," the girl said with a neat curtsy. "Come to collect the taxes, yes?"

Arthur nodded to her. "Marietta," he said. "Five shillings."

Merlin stared while Marietta disappeared inside the house. He opened his mouth, thought better of it, then remembered he wasn't the type to think better of things.

"The tax is ten shillings," he pointed out.

"Yes, it is, I'm glad you've gotten something out of today. By the way, you have to pay it, too."

"You told her five."

Arthur sighed and rubbed his temple. "Yes, Merlin, I told her five. I've been telling her five since she started paying in her father's stead. She came to the door crying her eyes out a few years ago because she didn't have the money. I told her five was enough. The place hasn't gotten any richer, so I still tell her five. Satisfied?"

"Does the king know?"

The fact that Arthur didn't answer was answer enough.

Marietta reappeared, offering the prince a small handful of coins. "Take this, too." In her other hand, she held a golden-brown, perfectly shaped bread roll. Arthur took it, smiling at her. She curtsied again and ducked back inside.

Arthur marched away at a pace that suggested he was purposely trying to keep Merlin from talking to him.

Merlin jogged to catch up. "So is it just her you gave this special benefit to, or was it the same with her father."

"Leave it, Merlin."

"I'm just curious. Do you pity the whole family, or is she... special?"

"Her father's too proud, he doesn't even know that they don't pay the full tax. And if you ever suggest anything like that again, I will keep you in the stocks until the next tax season."

Merlin considered this. He didn't doubt that Arthur would actually do this, but then again, if the opportunity wandered along, he doubted he would resist the urge to make fun of Arthur in whatever way possible.

By the time he decided a year in the stocks would be worth questioning Arthur's love life, the prince was already knocking on someone else's door. Merlin gave chase.

"Hey, wait a minute! _What was that about me paying taxes_?"


	4. Day 72

**Day 72**

Two and a half months after being thrust into a job he didn't particularly want, Merlin was sitting up in bed, huddled under his blankets and feeling cold to the core nonetheless.

There was a bowl of soup balanced precariously at the foot of his bed, which thus far he hadn't touched. He felt vaguely queasy at the thought of keeping anything down since he'd been sick from the cheese Gaius had fed him earlier.

At the very least, his fever was leagues more manageable, if not yet gone. But that did not stop the harrowing swings between heat and chills. Chills seemed to dominate heavily, as they did now.

Merlin snuggled deeper into his blankets, trying to bite back the shivers. He heard voices in Gaius' main chambers, but he ignored them, doing his best to sink into much-needed sleep. _Natural _sleep, not the inability to wake up he'd experienced the last few days.

However, whoever Gaius was talking to outside decided he would like to barge in seconds after Merlin closed his eyes.

"Should've known it was you," Merlin groaned, secretly pleased Arthur had come to see him. For of course, the only person rude enough to barge into his room like he owned the place was the prince who, in all technicality, pretty much did. "Weren't you here already? I could have sworn. Maybe I'm delirious."

"I was," Arthur confirmed. "And if you're delirious, I haven't noticed a difference."

He stood awkwardly in the doorway. Merlin was tempted to roll over and close his eyes again so Arthur would get the point and leave, but, well...

"So why are you back? I didn't know you cared so much." It was shocking enough for the man to make a point of visiting him once, but twice?

Arthur snorted. "Don't be stupid. I saw Gwen, and she mentioned that you wouldn't be serving me tomorrow after all, so I wanted to see if she meant you were genuinely ill or if you were being your usual lazy self. She, ah, also mentioned... you'd stopped breathing, before the flower worked."

"Yeah," said Merlin, "that's what they told me."

The prince looked like he wanted to say something else. He also looked like he really _didn't _want to say it. Merlin waited with the patience of a saint for Arthur to get his tongue around the words.

Even saints had a limit, though. "If that's all," he said pointedly, "I'm kind of tired..."

"Of course," said Arthur hurriedly. "I just wondered... what were you thinking? What made you decide you were going to march up to Bayard and accuse him of poisoning me in front of every guest at the feast? How could you _drink _it?"

"I didn't have a lot of choice, did I? It was drink it or let Bayard run me through."

"Alternatively," Arthur said dryly, "you could have kept your mouth shut and let me drink it. Or, if you really wanted to play the hero, you could have knocked it out of my hand. You're enough of a clumsy idiot that I could convince everyone it was an accident."

"But then you wouldn't have believed me," Merlin pointed out. With a jolt, he realized that that was a big part of it. He needed Arthur to believe him, had needed it ever since he hadn't believed him about Valiant. Some part of him wanted Arthur to know he was telling the truth. Why, he didn't know; it wasn't as if he and Arthur were particularly close. Merlin served him daily, and they called each other names, but that was it. Why did he feel so strongly about Arthur trusting his word?

Arthur nodded as if Merlin had answered his question, though even Merlin knew that he hadn't really. Arthur wanted to know what made him willing to drink a goblet of poisoned wine just to prove a point. Merlin wanted to know, too.

"All right, then. I suppose I'll see you in a couple of days. Don't get too used to that bed, I'll have something to make up for you slacking off."

Merlin rolled his eyes. "Yes, _Sire_."

Arthur left. Merlin slept. Before he slept, though, he wondered. Wondered about what he'd do if Arthur faced something more immediate than poison, if proving a point was nowhere in the equation.

Destiny probably wanted him to stand up straight and proceed to throw himself in front of anything that came the prince's way.

The small voice in the back of his half-asleep head said it didn't want to be thrown in the way of anything.

At this point he stopped thinking altogether. He'd get his answer someday, although the day the moment came might not have had the same outcome it would have on Day 72.

* * *

Ooh, I meant to put this up a couple of days ago. Then again, I also meant to accomplish something else before I did that, so I guess my compromise is putting it up late without actually having gotten anywhere on anything.

I think I'm discovering that I prefer the chapters that don't revolve around any of the episodes, but there are some episodes I can't resist - like the Poisoned Chalice, because it's a personal favorite. Never mind that there's also some pivotal moments in certain episodes. What do y'all prefer so far? Not there's much to judge from...

_Grazi _to everyone who's reviewed/favorited/alerted!


	5. Day 144

-hides- I'm alive, I promise! I fell out of writing for a little bit, partly because of being busy, partly because I just couldn't for some reason, but I'm back with more! I have this whole story planned out and everything! It's going to be 10 chapters, and I'm thinking of doing a sequel set in series two from Arthur's point of view.

If it helps at all, this one's a bit longer than the others!

* * *

**Day 144**

Time flew by in Camelot, something it never seemed willing to do for Merlin in Ealdor. He used to force the time to pass, wreaking havoc to unsuspecting townsfolk with Will in between tending crops and helping his mother with cooking and sewing when she asked. Others would express surprise at how quickly it had gone from planting time to harvest, but for Merlin it felt like he was being forced to sit and watch the corn grow.

For the first time in his life, Merlin found himself shocked by the amount of time that had passed while he wasn't looking. When he woke Arthur up one morning and glanced out the prince's window, he realized with a start that it was snowing, and the ground was already blanketed thinly in white.

"It's winter!" he exclaimed when he threw back the curtain, forgetting that he hadn't actually woken the prince yet.

Arthur's eyes squinted open into a glare. "Merlin," he growled, his voice that extra bit of gravelly that was associated with mornings. "I'd rather the first thing I hear in the morning not be redundant idiocy. _Obviously _it's winter."

Yes, but never before had Merlin seen a snowy landscape from this point of view. It was like his first day in Camelot all over again, looking out on the city that fell into the plains that rolled into the forest's edge, all of it beneath the star-studded sky. Seeing it all under a thin film of twinkling snow was every bit as wondrous.

He took it in as leisurely as he dared, but he knew Arthur would make fun of him if he gawped too long. He snuck glances out the window all morning anyway, quietly thrilled that he'd had the opportunity to see this in his life.

It was far less thrilling two hours later when Arthur made him go out in it.

Shivering in his jacket, shoulders hunched against the wind, Merlin grumbled, "Is it really worth hunting in this weather? Won't everything be hiding in their dens?"

"Not everything's as big a wimp as you, Merlin," Arthur said, then gestured at him to be quiet. He did that a lot while they were hunting, which led Merlin to question why he even brought Merlin along. Usually there were a handful of knights, too, but once in a while Arthur wanted to "spend some time alone," which Merlin had pointed out more than once would work leagues better if his manservant wasn't with him. Nine times out of ten he was ignored, and the one tenth wasn't an improvement.

The longer they were out, the colder it got, it seemed. The snow eventually stopped, and Merlin suspected this might be because it was too cold for precipitation. Arthur didn't seem bothered at all, but then, he had a cloak that was probably thicker than all of Merlin's layers combined.

Most of the animals were hiding, it seemed. One daring rabbit darted across their path after what must have been hours of alternate walking in silence and Merlin trying unsuccessfully to find something to talk about that wouldn't make Arthur hit him. Arthur did not even raise his bow; he wasn't here for small game. Merlin wrapped his arm around himself miserably and prayed that Arthur would give up soon so they could go home.

Fortunately for his emotional wellbeing, he didn't truly anticipate such an outcome. That didn't mean he was in any way prepared for what did happen.

At long last, Arthur came to an unexpected halt, holding his hand up in a signal that even Merlin recognized to mean _silence. _He took more care than usual to follow orders; with any luck, Arthur could make his kill right now and the misery would be over.

Arthur raised his crossbow, loading it with practiced deftness. Merlin spotted his target after a moment - there was a doe half-hidden behind a dead berry bush almost a furlong away, pawing at the snow with her hoof, searching for food underneath, oblivious to the hunter's presence.

Merlin wasn't watching, but the tell-tale whistling noise alerted him to the fact that Arthur had fired a split second before he saw the impact. Arthur had hit her hindquarters: far from a perfect hit. The doe jolted to life and took off at alarming rate. Arthur cursed and took off after her.

Arthur, and by extension Merlin, chased after the injured doe at breakneck speed. Merlin felt every branch that whipped his face and arms. Arthur reloaded and fired his crossbow as they ran, missing the lumbering animal by a hair every time.

The unthinkable happened.

For the fourth time, Arthur nocked another bolt while sprinting - and, without warning, went down hard face-first into the snow, crying out so loud it echoed. Unprepared, Merlin nearly ran straight over him. "Arthur?" he prompted when the prince did not immediately climb out of his snowy bed.

Arthur groaned, the sound muffled against the ground. He pushed himself up with both arms and managed to roll over onto his back. This allowed Merlin to see both the previous and the current problem, the previous problem being the frozen puddle that had caused Arthur to slip in the first place, hidden as it had been under layers of snow.

The current and therefore more pressing problem was what Arthur had fallen on. The crossbow in his hands had splintered under his weight, and one broken end had buried itself firmly in Arthur's belly.

Merlin gaped in horror as Arthur's hand found the protruding object. "Are you sure you should-" Merlin started, recalling how one mad had almost bled to death before he got to Gaius's care because he'd pulled the arrow from his wound right away. It was too late for Merlin's warning, though; Arthur pulled it free with a grunt and another sickening sound to accompany it.

"It's fine," Arthur panted unconvincingly. "It's not too deep." All the same, some of the white around them was turning red. Merlin yanked the scarf from around his neck, hissing at the sudden icy breeze that attacked it. Ignoring that, he dropped to his knees at Arthur's side. The damp chill soaked through his trousers immediately.

"Here," he said, "this might hurt." He tore the fabric down the middle, Arthur watching him warily, and wrapped it around the prince's torso. "One," Merlin said, and tied it tight.

Arthur jerked and grunted, his hand shooting out reflexively to grab tightly to Merlin's wrist, but he collected himself and let go. "Now you won't bleed to death, at least," Merlin reasoned defensively in response to Arthur's glare. "Can you walk?"

"Do I look like an invalid?" Arthur snapped. Nonetheless, he was obviously in pain as he struggled to his feet. "I can walk perfectly fine," he reaffirmed unnecessarily once he was upright. Merlin wondered which one of them he was trying to convince.

It started to snow again shortly after they set off. Merlin didn't notice it until it started getting worse; he was too busy keeping an eye on the prince, who stubbornly refused to admit that his injury was getting to him. Merlin spent more time watching Arthur for signs of pain or increased bleeding than he spent watching where he was going, which contributed to a couple of clumsy stumbles that Arthur was never going to let go.

Once Merlin did notice the resumed snowfall, it became steadily worse. Soon it was coming down so thick that Merlin could no longer see Arthur consistently.

"I think we should stop!" he called, not sure how far away the prince was; he'd lost sight of him at least five minutes ago, and he did not take it as a good sign that he hadn't reappeared. "Arthur? _Arthur!_" He turned and scanned the swirling white mist for signs of Pendragon red.

"I'm here," Arthur's faint voice said from somewhere nearby, and Merlin stumbled in the voice's direction until the prince materialized, though much closer to the ground than Merlin had anticipated. He was hunched over on his knees, left arm wrapped protectively around his middle.

Merlin's insides twisted unpleasantly. "We need to get you to Gaius," he said as he looped his arm through Arthur's to help him up.

"Because we're making_ such _good progress so far," Arthur drawled. He grimaced as the movement jarred his wound.

He was right. He was a prat about it, but he was right. They were never going to get anywhere in this. Getting Arthur to Gaius was important, but surviving the night was more so.

Together, once Arthur relented to lean on Merlin for support, they hobbled in search of shelter. Every time Merlin stumbled a little, Arthur barked something about Merlin's idiocy and clumsiness, but Merlin knew he was just compensating for his wounded pride and possibly distracting himself from the pain. He deserved it, Merlin thought grumpily, for dragging him out on this ridiculous weather.

But he didn't really think so. Despite himself, he felt a stab of concern every time Arthur's jaw clenched or his grip tightened on Merlin's arm. He told himself it was only because he'd be flayed alive if he came back to Camelot to tell the king his son had impaled himself on a crossbow and then frozen to death in the wilderness. If he let himself think too hard about it, though, which was scarily easily as Arthur's insults grew fewer and far between the longer they trekked, he had to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, he cared a little bit about what happened to the prince. Not a _lot, _but enough that he didn't relish the thought of his suffering.

At last they found a small cave where they could rest. It wasn't perfect - the opening faced the wind, and snow blew in to coat the floor, but farther in, it was drier and less bitter than standing outside. Merlin set Arthur down against the back wall and began arranging loose stones into a fireplace.

"Wait here," he said when he'd finished. Arthur glared at him in a way that clearly meant "_obviously, _you idiot." Merlin ignored it and ventured back out into the blistering cold, hunching his shoulders up against the wind and trying desperately to keep his face down.

"Good luck lighting those," Arthur said when Merlin reappeared and dropped his pile of snow-dampened sticks and bark into the stone ring.

"I'm good at lighting fires," Merlin told him.

Arthur snorted. "As good as you are at anything else, I suppose."

Merlin crouched with his back to Arthur, picking up two stones and striking them together. He got a few stray sparks, but none of them caught. That was fine; he hadn't counted on lighting it the conventional way.

_"Forbearnan,_" he breathed as he struck the stones again, and this time the flames roared to life. Merlin turned and caught Arthur schooling his surprised expression into a blank one. "_Exactly _as good, if you ask me."

"I didn't," Arthur retorted. His eyes drifted shut and he relaxed against the cave wall. "I'm amazed you haven't frozen to death yet. Those rags can't be keeping you very warm."

Merlin squawked something indignant about how his clothes were fine, thank you very much, but he realized even as he spoke that he was, in fact, quite cold. Exceptionally cold. Verging on painfully cold.

"Guess I didn't notice," Merlin said, wrapping his arms around his shivering body. He sat down next to the prince, not close enough to touch (though the shared body heat may have been nice), but close enough that if Arthur started tossing with fever in the night, Merlin would definitely be alerted.

"You didn't notice yourself getting frostbite," Arthur said skeptically.

Merlin pulled his knees up to meet his chest. "There were more important things going on. Living, for example. And besides, I'm not the one I was..." He stopped, because he had been about to say _worried about_, and there was no way he was going to admit to Arthur Pendragon that he had been _worrying_ about him. He glanced sideways to see if Arthur had noticed the near-slip, but it seemed that the prince had fallen asleep. The scarf around his wound was almost completely darkened with blood, but it didn't seem to be spreading beyond there. Now that they were sitting, the bleeding had probably stopped, or would soon. Merlin bit his lip; he wished he had learned more from Gaius since he'd been living with him, but he was too busy running around after Arthur. He had no idea how to treat a wound like this.

Even so, he would stay up all night worrying. When morning came, he would wake from a brief half hour's sleep with fear clenching his stomach until he reassured himself that Arthur was still breathing next to him. He would rouse the prince, and they would stumble the rest of the way back to castle, where two knights would carry Arthur to Gaius's chambers to be treated.

Arthur would recover in no time at all, and they would both go on as if nothing had happened, but one fact still remained: Merlin could no longer deny that he cared about Camelot's prince. But gods be willing, it would be a long time before he had reason to remember it.


End file.
